


Honor Among Thieves

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Confrontations, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Reluctant Friendship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spy ignored the shocked look on his teammate's face. "You can say what you will of me, <i>bushman</i>, anything you like for all I care. Some of it I suppose would be true. But you won't speak ill of her around me—<i>ever.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor Among Thieves

It had been over two months since last he had seen her.

That must have been what made him so reckless, so utterly foolish—and cocky, most of all. His own belief that his expertise made him infallible, stealing away in the broad daylight, something bold that he would have taken care to avoid in his earlier years. Settling in with his new employment with Redmond Mann's company had made him wary enough to keep away from his nearby sweetheart for weeks on end, only to culminate in a complete lapse in judgement.

Perhaps age did not beget wisdom after all.

All the same he had done it, though, caution and practicality tossed to the wind. And she smiled when she had found him at the door, no flowers or empty words because none were necessary.

Time had not been wasted in fulfilling their needs. She had pulled him down on top of her when they reached her much too lonely bed, guiding his touch to the hem of her dress. Not a suggestion, but an imperative.

He smirked gloatingly against their kiss, his amusement breaking it. "Eager today, aren't we?"

"Ain't you the one who ditched work for this?" she teased back, only to end the sentence in a hiss of pleasure when his lips found the place where her neck met her shoulder to leave kisses along the tender area. She unintendedly giggled with delight at the urgency of his affections.

In retrospect, he didn't entirely blame himself for not considering that the blinds were ever so slightly parted. She made him positively drunk with rapture. Somewhere between the scent of her perfume and the touch of her skin, his sense of paranoia had briefly receded.

Her breathing had become rapid in anticipation; he could draw some solace from the fact that she was coaxing him on, that his carelessness was only one element of the eventual drama. At this point his arousal had become nearly painful, and there was no denying he would carry through with his intentions.

"Y—y'sure this is safe?" she asked quietly, a hum of approval following it as his fingers dipped lower, brushing at the thin material that hugged her hip.

He couldn't remember what he had answered her, but the end result was not in doubt. His intellectual side urged him to be gentle toward her, a reminder that this wasn't a battle, that he must treat her with deference rather than merely have his way. The carnal lovemaking always revealed to what extent being away affected his state of mind.

And more so than ever before he felt the satisfaction of the act, the sensation of feeling needed by her in the best possible way. His profession had caused him to grow accustomed to the enjoyment of power, an addiction, but she provoked a curious condition where he felt a vulnerability that ultimately brought him a sense of wholeness. One mark of it was his regression to his native tongue, something he had left behind for the most part, and yet there she would have him whispering fondly in it to her. In some intangible way, she kept a part of him clean and innocent.

He supposed that a latent instinct had alerted him to the presence of an enemy, because he had captured her in an overwhelming kiss when the beginnings of his name came to her lips. This time he did not allow himself the privilege of hearing her say it, the sacred knowledge that she confessed him as the source of her ecstasy. His vanity would have to content itself with her exhausted sigh, and the simple fact that this beautiful woman still wanted him.

To that end, he would later derive a devious sense of pride from the truth that his rival had seen what transpired.

* * *

But the feeling that currently filled him was nothing short of nausea.

He lingered at the back lot of RED's base of operations, nursing the third cigarette of the night as he stood idly. The photograph he held in his gloved hand was one of the less compromising ones—charming, perhaps, but still a bitter reminder of the drama it had sparked. He had grown more needy in his middle-age, he thought. Of course it had led him to endanger her.

God only knew where the rest of the file had made off to. Despite having liberated it from the enemy faction, their team's Scout had promptly thieved it after the others had a good round of laughter. He had few doubts that the idiot intended to taunt his unfortunate rival with the photographs therein, and the thought merely added to his disgust.

Allowing a small sigh to escape him, he shredded the photograph before scattering it to the wind. He didn't need it to remind himself of her, much less to remind himself of his horrendously unprofessional mistake. While it was easy to play it off as a one-time seduction, something his coworkers seemed to applaud him for, he couldn't bring himself to feel proud of that viewpoint they shared.

The sound of a door closing brought him out of his thoughts, throwing a glance in the direction it had come from. From around the corner emerged one of his less deranged—if a bit unsavory—teammates.

"Figured I'd find you out here," the Australian muttered when he caught sight of his comrade leaning against the building. A familiar file was held in his hand. "I reckon this is yours, even if Scout don't agree on that. You can work it out later how you're gonna repay me for returnin' it."

The Spy quirked an eyebrow at the other man's unusually terse tone, accepting the item gingerly. Though they weren't exactly friendly to one another, there seemed to be some added hostility over the topic.

"What compelled you to do me this favor, Mundy?"

The marksman's retreating back was to him, walking off toward the dirt lot where his home on wheels was parked. He could see his body stiffen in the early evening darkness; addressing him by name seemed to have that effect, at least when he did so.

He turned around to face his teammate, eyes hardening. "Don't get me wrong, spook. I did it for her sake, not yours."

 _Her?_ There was no reply on his tongue, and the Sniper seemed to notice the discomfort. He chuckled under his breath.

"That's a lady that we're talkin' about. Whoever's mum she is, I couldn't care less—she's still a lady, and she don't deserve gettin' used by the likes of you." His glare still appeared venomous, challenging.

"Beg pardon?" A bristle of aggression had risen to the surface. There were few things that could rustle him, and this man was hitting on number one of the list. "Did someone appoint you moral guardian of our little family, _bushman?_ "

The name-calling had begun. It would have been open season from that point forward, but the Sniper remained surprisingly unfazed.

"It's a funny thing, y'know, how all the beautiful women go for your kind," he went on calmly, almost smugly. "The kind that use 'em up and move on to the next."

"I am warning you _politely_ , Mundy, to end that train of thought. Do _not_ —"

"—a woman of your age, see, I wouldn't expect to buy your act so easily."

The knife in his pocket felt smooth and satisfying as he wrapped his fingers around it. He forced himself to contain his anger—he couldn't draw a weapon on an ally, even if he deserved it.

"I'm only saying it one final time. Leave it alone, or else—"

The hostile smile had not left the Australian's face. "But I s'pose I stand corrected, 'cause it looks like y'made her your whor—"

In an instant the sentence came to an abrupt end. The Spy had struck, and whenever he struck he only did so once. One blow across the jaw had sent the man to the dust. The victor stood over him with his fist still raised before slowly lowering it. He had been given fair warning.

He ignored the shocked look on his teammate's face. "You can say what you will of me, _bushman_ , anything you like for all I care. Some of it I suppose would be true. But you won't speak ill of her around me— _ever_."

The violent anger in his chest peaked, forcing him to pause to collect himself for a brief moment. "You'd do well to not forget that, because I don't need to be hiding half a mile away to kill you. Anywhere, any time."

And he left him there without another word.

* * *

It must have been nearly ten o'clock when there came a knocking on the door of his van. There could be no mistaking who it had to be, given his limited social interaction, but why he would return mystified the gunman.

He had taken the ice off of his bruised face when he opened the door, too embarrassed to answer the caller while holding it to his injury. Judging from the Spy's slight wince, there must have been an ugly swelling, and perhaps that was just as humiliating.

"Wha'dya want?" he questioned, more exhaustion than anger in his tone. "Come to finish what y'started?"

The dark shadow that crossed the other man's face made his inner antagonizer shrink back, though just as quickly it had vanished again. "I came to _apologize_ , rather, but if you're making a suggestion..."

The Sniper rolled his eyes at the implication. "C'mon in. I have some coffee I just made. I don't accept no apologies until y'give me some explanation for that business back there."

As silent as ever before, the Spy sat at the van's small table with the same air of refinement as one would at any restaurant. He didn't even pull any faces about the coffee or the state the vehicle's interior was in. The cigarette he had lit up seemed enough to keep him serene.

"So," the marksman began, sticking the ice pack back to his injury. Not a whole lot of sense in trying to avoid that mark of shame. "What's the story with this woman? Your favorite girl or somethin'?"

The Spy's blue gaze roved over him briefly before settling on the closed window. Checking, watching. He chuckled softly. "You're lucky I trust you almost as much as I dislike you, you know. Remember that my threats remain good if you ever reveal anything that is said here."

His neck hairs stood on end at the passive calmness with which he made the promise of death. This man made the other team's Spy seem like a harmless housecat.

"That being said," he continued at last, "No, I wouldn't say my _favorite girl_. My only girl, more appropriately."

He sighed impatiently at the puzzled surprise on his teammate's face. "She's my wife, Mundy. Since I was hardly Scout's age it's been the way of it."

The inside of the van remained silent for a solid thirty seconds, only broken by the ticking of a clock.

"You— _what?_ " The Sniper had set his mug of coffee down hard, causing some to spill out onto the table. The other man wrinkled his nose in distaste, but he did not interject a comment, instead allowing the marksman to collect himself.

"I'm not repeating it, you nitwit. You heard what I said," he huffed back. "Don't act so taken aback, either. It's unbecoming—even of a man of your intelligence level."

"No no no, don't get me wrong." The Australian grimaced with pain as he removed the ice for a moment. "I just—y'can't blame me for bein' surprised, can ya? D'ya really think you come across like you're that sort of bloke?"

The Spy glanced off to the side again, an evasive gesture. "I suppose not. But how much could you say you know about me in the first place?"

A shrugging response. "Not much, but you don't seem much of the marryin' type to start with."

"And yet that's exactly what I did," he replied simply, crushing the dead cigarette into the ashtray. "Of course, it wasn't supposed to be public knowledge. Visiting her like that was nothing short of insanity, but one does stupid things to have their needs met."

Feeling more and more abashed, the Sniper had lowered his gaze to the table. "I'm real sorry, spook. For whatever that's worth, comin' from me."

"As I said before, I won't blame you for what you think of me. I'm not ignorant of how you believe me to be." He had gradually made his way back to the door, shaking his head as he stood facing it. "You should know, however, that I do believe in loyalty. To our organization, for one thing. And to her. A man who betrays his lover does not deserve her, and while I may not deserve her for many reasons..."

He paused, a small smile creeping on to his face. "...that is not one of them."

The Sniper sat for several moments alone in the van after his teammate had made his exit. Some question nagged at the back of his mind, and it hit him with full force when the pieces fell together in his head. He couldn't believe it hadn't dawned on him before.

He ran to catch up with the elusive man as he made his way back to their base.

"'ey, spook!" he blurted out as he arrived at his side. "That doesn't mean—you're not—"

The Spy rolled his eyes again, impatient and yet somehow still amused. "Yes?"

"The kid—BLU's runner. Is he...?"

His reluctant friend's body went rigid at the inquiry. He seemed to falter, hesitating, before he nodded curtly and started off again, leaving the marksman standing dumbfounded.

"I'm not the coward you've thought me to be, Mundy. Take care to remember it."

The other mercenary chuckled softly. "Honor among thieves?"

"Something like that."


End file.
